


Summer: Dog Days Are Over

by sanzuh



Series: The Seasons of My Love [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Pregnancy, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27505957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanzuh/pseuds/sanzuh
Summary: Jon and Sansa are wed on the eve of the War for the Dawn. Years later, the dead have been defeated, summer has come and they're rebuilding Winterfell and the Stark family together. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell share a heart-to-heart and intimate moment in the Godswood.This used to be chapter 1 of a multichapter fic, but I'm finally turning them into a series of separate fics because I think that makes more sense.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: The Seasons of My Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010232
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	Summer: Dog Days Are Over

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song by Florence + the Machine

Jon is three.

Robb pulls him along, telling him they have a sister and that they need to go see her. They tiptoe into the room, whispering too loudly in their giddiness.

Robb goes first. "Sisters are dull," he concludes."She's sleeping again."

Father chuckles. "She's but a babe. And she's your sister. It's your duty as brothers to protect her."

Jon clasps his hands over the side of the cradle, pulling himself up so he can have a look. She's tiny, wrapped in cloth like a loaf of bread and she hardly has any hair on her head.

She opens her eyes and suddenly the entire world turns bright. 

Jon cries out, startled, and rubs his eyes.

Lady Stark glares at him and has him sent from the room.

* * *

_I loved a maid as fair as summer_

_with sunlight in her hair._

Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the Godswood, bathing the forest floor in red and green shades of golden light. Jon's cheeks were hurting. Normally his smiles didn't come easily, but today he couldn't help it. Summer rains had swept away the heat of the last fortnight and while it was still warm, the temperature had become much more bearable.

Sansa lay facing him, propped up on one elbow. She had fixed him with a glare for chuckling when she'd shed her gown earlier. The Lady of Winterfell was lying in the grass, clad in naught but her shift and smallclothes, eating cherries. It was the most improper and the most gorgeous he'd ever seen her.

She bit into another cherry, the juice staining her plump lips, and lowered her hand to caress her slightly swollen belly. His lips stretched into a smile again, the ache now even noticable in his jaws and his breeches growing tighter at the sight before him.

A slight crease appeared on her brow as a shadow clouded her eyes.

"What troubles you, my love?"

She shrugged and offered him a smile. 

He raised an eyebrow in response.

"You'll think me silly, Jon," she began. "But... Aren't you ever overwhelmed by the fear that all of this" - she gestured vaguely, her face now truly pulled into a frown - "is too good to be true? That it's all but a dream and in a moment you'll wake up and still be..."

She let the rest of her question trail off. _In King's Landing?_ he finished mentally. _"In Baelish' claws? Beyond the Wall? Bleeding out in the snow, all alone and betrayed by men I called brothers?_

"Every single day," he admitted, shaking his head. "All my life I wanted to be Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell. And now I am." _It is too good to be true._ He knew the feeling all too well. He was always looking over his shoulder, expecting the next tragedy to creep up on him, then hurriedly facing forward again in case the next threat were to attack him head-on.

"Is that why you chose me as your wife?" she asked airily.

"You know that's not true. I did it to protect you, to keep you safe while I was off fighting yet another war." He rolled up until he was sitting on his knees and reached out to cup her cheek. "Besides, does it truly matter why I wed you years ago? Can't it be enough that I love you now?"

It was true, Sansa represented everything he'd ever wanted, all he'd never even hoped to have. And he'd always remembered the moment his world had burst into colour. It had brought him great shame once he'd discovered what it meant. He couldn't allow himself to want her, believing she was his sister. By the time he'd taken the black, he'd convinced himself soulmates were but a cruel jape made up by the gods to bring more suffering to the world.

But Sansa had always been able to see the world in colours. He liked to imagine that's why she'd always been so fond of songs. To her, the world had always been a bright and lovely place. Yet it also meant she never would have known he was the reason she had that ability, if he hadn't died and come back. Perhaps that's what had convinced her to propose they wed once the truth had come out. 

Perhaps she was the one who regretted that choice now. He dropped his hand. "I know I'm not the husband you would have chosen."

"I have a history of choosing precisely those things which are wrong for me," she scoffed, but then her face softened. "It's not that I never saw your worth back then, Jon. You just confused me, is all. Isn't it enough that I love you now?"

He smirked at her throwing his own words back at him. After all they had suffered, it should be enough, but that might their crux. Had they forgotten how to be normal and content?

"I can't help but wonder," she muttered, "if none of these tragedies that have befallen our family would have come about, would we be sat here as husband and wife? Did they all have to die so the gods could prove a point and bring us together?"

He flexed his sword hand, trying to pretend the thought hadn't occurred to him before. 'No," he said firmly. "I choose not to believe that."

She offered him a watery smile. "It's time we start thinking about the future, right? Our future," she added, caressing her belly again. "We can't change the past."

 _"It's time to live, Jon Snow,"_ a vaguely familiar voice whispered in the back of his head. "Aye," he said, "a future we should celebrate."

He took the hand that was lifting another cherry to her lips, rubbing his thumb into her palm. As he closed his lips over her thumb and forefinger, he bit into the fruit, slowly sucking the flesh and lapping up the tart juice, all the while holding her gaze. When he released her fingers to spit out the stone, she averted her darkened eyes, cheeks flushed a deep pink. 

He gently pushed her onto her back, leaning over her to capture her lips in a kiss. He moved to kneel in between her legs as he started sucking a bloom onto the pale skin of her neck. He took both of her hands, lacing their fingers together, groaning as he felt her hardened nipples brushing his chest.

He moved down, caressing her sides, and reached for the hem of her shift. "I want to see," he told her.

"There's not much to see yet," she warned him.

She was right, it was barely there. One had to know to see it, but there was no mistaking. His seed had quickened inside her and now their babe was growing there. He leaned down to press his lips to her small bump. "We're going to have a son, Sansa."

"What if it's a girl?" She was biting her lip, worry written all over her face.

He climbed back up her body, planting his forearms on either side of her face, so he could lean down and kiss the tip of her nose. "Then I pray she'll have your eyes and your sweet face."

"What if I have only girls?"

He met her eyes and declared solemnly: "Surely I could not survive six miniature yous."

'Six?" she cried, swatting his shoulder.

He hummed in agreement and started kissing his way down her body again. "Now, if you'll let me proceed, My Lady? You've eaten all the cherries, so I'll have to find a sweet treat elsewhere."


End file.
